The Very Many Puzzling But Altogether Wonderful Things About Magic
by MissusWitch
Summary: Spinoff from TTB. Playing Quidditch, meeting women, and being the unrelenting prat in the family is all James Sirius Potter really knows—until a flying accident forces him to revaluate all he holds dear. Faced with newfound challenges, he embarks on a path of self-discovery through an unlikely companionship with a muggle girl caught between two worlds. James Potter II/OC


**Helloooo all, **

**Here's a teaser for my newest James-and-OC-Centric story, exploring aspects of one of my favorite NextGen characters and an interesting concept concerning magic and the next step for "muggles" in this universe that I've had in my head for awhile. **

**The OC character is one that I've dreamt up of for a bit, but only just started to have time enough to pen down. **

**If you are a new reader, check out my other story, Thicker Than Blood, which is connected to this one. For TTB fans, rest assured—a new update is coming soon. **

**Thanks for your patience and I hope not to disappoint. **

**With Love, **

**MissusWitch**

AAA.

Chapter One- Etta

"_Obliviate._"

Candace Tremlett hated her job. She hated the worn-out 'Muggle Control Unit' nametag on her desk and how the higher-ups had misspelled her name again (Cand_ice_, can you believe the nerve). She hated the shiny grin plastered on her face because she could not remember the last time she had smiled for _real_. Most of all, though, she hated the twenty-something-year-old muggle girl sitting in front of her.

The girl shuddered as the memory-wiping charm took hold. "Gah," she said in shock, having been interrupted mid-sentence.

She had a youthful face, thought Candace with a sigh of jealousy. One of those petite faces structured around a slim nose and wide introspective eyes. The curly chestnut-brown hair that fell in tight ringlets to her shoulders suited her. Only her mouth was slightly off; her lips were too wide and her smile seemed lopsided somehow. She showed an awful lot of teeth when she smiled.

She wasn't anything special, but the girl being twenty-something only reminded Candace that she was turning _forty-something._ This sad fact further heightened her conviction that she was wasting her life away on this desk, her magical abilities reduced to one ruddy spell she was forced to perform a quadrillion times a day. Really, if it weren't for the fact that she still had a son and daughter at Hogwarts, she would have quit the office for good.

Candace glanced down in boredom at her watch, waiting for the doleful expression to settle upon the muggle girl's features and signal a job well done. Sometimes the spell took awhile. She wondered if her husband had managed to get the roast out of the oven. The possibility was slim—_dozy bastard, _she added scornfully.

"That one tickled," said the muggle, jolting Candace back to attention. "Funny. It normally just feels like someone's soaked your brain in a hot bath."

Candace froze, registering the muggle's calm expression. The girl was still lucid.

_Bugger, another two-timer_, thought Candace in annoyance. She fingered the wand lying inconspicuously behind the clock on her desk.

"What's that, dear?" she inquired, her voice arching to a higher pitch and the smile reappearing on her face. _By jove, my cheeks are sore. _"Miss…um…Lovett, was it? _Obliviate_."

The second memory charm she performed was much stronger than the last. The girl shuddered as the air around her wavered menacingly.

_That ought to do it, _thought Candace in satisfaction. She reached for the button that would call the next recipient in.

"Oh for _god's_ sake." The muggle girl was angry now and her voice was entirely too steady for someone who had just had their memories wiped.

Feeling thoroughly irritated, Candace dropped the fake smile and reached for her wand. The girl immediately reached out and clamped her hand down on Candace's arm, causing the elder woman to recoil in shock.

"You haven't been informed, have you?" Her expression was one of mingled sympathy and frustration. "Don't tell me that you people sent me to the _wrong _department again. The wizard in charge last week said all I had to do was ask for Arthur Weasley."

"Sorry?" spluttered Candace, her eyes bulging as the head of her department's name spilled out of the muggle girl's lips. "Did you say_ wizard_? Ar—Arthur _Weasley-_"

"Yes, Arthur Weasley," repeated the girl impatiently. "Listen, I've had a very long trying day at the office. Hedge funds, you know? That _magic bus_, or whatever name you people came up with for that contraption, came barreling out of nowhere and got me right here on the thigh just as I was crossing Sainsbury bridge." She got to her feet and pulled up her black pencil skirt, indicating the bruise now swelling on her upper leg.

"Don't worry," she added more gently, as though _Candace _was the victim here. "Rest assured, I'm completely aware of your International Wizarding Secrecy laws. You have my word that I've sworn to all that. If you don't believe me, check the records. I've been in here at least three times in the past year. _Please," _she continued forlornly as Candace turned very, very white. "I'd like it if this could be quick. My mum's making Shepherd's pie and she hates it when I'm late for dinner."

_This. Isn't. Possible. _All thoughts of the ruddy roast and her spoiled ungrateful children went flying out of Candace's head.

"I—I don't-" the woman squeaked, her eyes glancing around wildly for a solution. Desperately, she yanked her arm out of the girl's clutches and raised her wand at the girl's forehead. "Obliv-"

"It's not going to _wo-ork_," the girl chimed, her eyes shutting with resignation. "But alright, have at it."

"Ob-obliviate!" Candace stammered, jabbing her wand erratically. "Obliviate! _Obliviate, obiliviate, obiliviate_!"

For a fleeting moment she hoped that the rampage of spells wouldn't send the poor muggle into a coma.

The girl tentatively opened her screwed eyes and let out a puff of air. "And _now_ I have a headache. Clearly, this is not getting through." Uttering a low stream of curses, the girl fished out a silky black cellphone out of her handbag and scrolled through the flitting numbers on her screen with a light tap of her finger.

"_Weasley…Weasley…_Ah, here we go." She flashed Candace a contrite smile as she put the phone to her ear. "Promise this won't take long."

The older woman sat back on her chair dazedly, lowering her wand. _Never _in her seventeen years…

"Hullo, Mr. Weasley?" said the girl in strained tones. "Yes, hi, my name is Edith Lovett and I was told to phone you in case I was ever detained by your department again...yes, Mr. Shacklebolt informed me I _wasn't_ going to have a problem with your staff anymore…"

Candace realized that the air was still shuddering in and out of her lungs. She tried to recall last week's meditation class on controlling one's breathing during a panic attack.

_Merlin's beard, I'm not_ really_ getting the sack, am I? _She had only been joking about quitting.

The girl continued to speak in rather frazzled tones. "…Yes, I'm in line for a form of prominent exception…" Pause. "The name on the records should be _Edith M. Lovett_— " Pause. "Um…ah, last Sunday, I was caught in an unfortunate situation with one of your, um, cauldron vendors…"

Her breath caught in relief as though she'd been informed of good news. "No, thank _you_, Mr. Weasley. I'll make a note of that straight away. The Ministry of Magic…is that right? Could you repeat the address?"

She looked at Candace questioningly and mimed the gesture of writing. Silently, the woman slid a ballpoint pen and a sticky-note across the table as the phone continued to buzz with static from the other end.

"4th and King's…the…_what_? The _lavatories_?" the girl repeated, looking utterly nonplussed. "Right, if you say so. Yes, looking forward to see you next Monday as well. Good day…" She handed the phone over to Candace, who accepted the unfamiliar device with numb fingers. "He wants to speak with you."

"Hello?" Candace whispered into the odd muggle device, still in shock.

"You've got to speak louder," advised the muggle girl gently.

Candace cleared her throat. "H-hello, Mr. Weasley?"

"Hullo to you back!" she heard the cheerful, gravelly tones of the much older man echo back. "Marvelous inventions, these Iphones. I can hear you clear as day! Now, Candace Tremlett, is it? You've been with us for a _while _now, according to these records. As you've most likely gathered from this exchange, Ms. Lovett _is_ free to leave. We are very sorry that the notification did not reach your branch in time, but for, ah, future reference, should Edith be detained again you are advised not to perform any spells on her…I'm afraid they will simply be to no effect."

Candace stared at the muggle girl in disbelief upon hearing her superior's words. The girl gazed back nonchalantly as though this was ordinary news.

"Right," Candace nodded, forgetting momentarily that only her vocal responses were being transmitted. "I'll remember the…notification…thank you…Mr. Weasley…." She heard him utter a farewell and a loud click resounded in her ear. Silently, she handed back the phone to Ms. Lovett, who promptly slid it back into her handbag.

"Sorry for the inconvenience," said the muggle girl sincerely, reaching for her handbag and swinging it over her shoulder. "And good luck on the rest of the memory-wiping." Then, with an acknowledging tilt of her head, the muggle girl strode out of the room.

AAA.

It was always the same.

"You're late, Etta."

_Lovely to see you too, mum. _

"Dinner smells wonderful," said the girl named Edith M. Lovett (but she preferred the name 'Etta' to an immeasurable degree). She slid the shiny black heels off her cramped toes and set them by the door.

"Well it _would have _smelled even better if you had been there right when it was piping hot, would it?" sniffed Sophia Lovett, fiddling with the pearls around her neck. "Nora, please serve your sister a slice of belated pie."

Etta stifled the urge to roll her eyes. Her elder sister, Elenore, flipped her shapely green eyes upward before their mother could notice. Sneaky bitch.

Etta coughed pointedly. "I'm fine, by the way. If anyone is interested to know."

"Don't be a baby," warned Nora as she spooned a heap of their mother's mouth-watering cooking onto Etta's plate.

Etta changed the subject. "Where's dad?"

Mrs. Lovett cocked an eyebrow. "Now, what sort of a question is that?"

Etta shrugged. "I assumed he'd be home, seeing as you clearly emphasized this as a _family_ meal."

"Oh, don't use my words to taunt the poor man," replied Mrs. Lovett. "Your father phoned earlier to say he'd be coming home late from the firm. They're running him absolutely ragged you know."

Etta opened her mouth to argue that even executive managers of fancy investment banks were permitted to come home on Friday evenings but Mrs. Lovett would have none of it. "Really, Etta, please take a bite out of your mother's sweat and blood before it gets too cold. Is it really too much to ask for a proper family meal?"

"But this _isn't _a family meal. Even _Sam's_ not at the table-" began Etta irritably, but she shoved a spoon in her mouth obligingly. "And I had to get through hell to come back as fast as I could-"

"You shouldn't talk with your mouth full," cut in Nora just as their mother chimed: "_Don't talk with your mouth full_!" The two women exchanged looks and Mrs. Lovett smiled. "There, you see. Nora's got it."

Etta once again resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"As for your brother, he's studying upstairs. His exams are coming up, you know," said Mrs. Lovett, as though this lent credibility to her argument. She began cutting the meat into thin, fine strips.

"Good to know Sam's hard at work." Etta fought to keep her face neutral. No doubt his window would be open, his bed empty, and his desk littered with spliff remains by the time she popped in to say hello.

"How was your day then, sis?" asked Nora with a barely concealed smirk. "Did the firm bounce back from the price drop in Houlson shares this afternoon? It was all over the news."

"Oh, you know I'm just an intern," replied Etta sweetly. _How in the bloody hell does she have time to know more about _my _job than I do? _Her sister's auburn hair winked at her under the chandelier light. "But I had a lovely view of the stock market over from my place by the coffee stand. Can you believe it? I made my first _cappuccino _today."

Dial down on the sarcasm, she reminded herself. As vacuous as her mother could be, she did possess _some _capability of picking out irony.

Mrs. Lovett tutted. "Etta dear, she's right to ask you about your job. Heaven knows we had to pull some strings to get you _that _one."

Nora nodded in agreement, her mouth twitching, and Etta narrowed her eyes.

"At any rate," Mrs. Lovett continued with a small oblivious hum to herself. "You ought to be making lots of money soon. The economy isn't so hot at the moment and young people _must _get a head-start," she set down her knife and fork and gazed at Etta, "Also, how is the flat search going, dear?"

Etta fiddled nervously with her utensils. "Um…still ongoing, mum."

"Are you still living with that Ukrainian prostitute who pretends to be an artist?" her mum's voice tittered with laughter.

"Mum!" exclaimed Etta, shocked. "Irina's not…a _prostitute_. She works for an outdoor gallery with a decent wage and everything... her style is just laissez-faire."

"There's a difference between laissez-faire and allowing your breasts to be signed on the sidewalk for _art_," pointed Nora out dryly, popping a grape into her mouth. "You really should find better flatmates. Or at least a better flat…your neighborhood is a field day for burglars."

"There's nothing wrong with the flat," replied Etta staunchly. Secretly, she treasured the nights she spent in the posh Lovett home as opposed to the ones she spent sleeping over a crowbar and hoping to death that no one would force their way into her dilapidated two-bedroom flat. She wanted more than anything to move to central London but Irina was extremely stubborn and there was no way that Etta could afford to live on her own.

"There's clearly something wrong with _you_," sang Nora, and her mum's insufferable titter of laughter resounded again.

Etta sighed, trying to force the anger bubbling in her veins down. It was really quite unfair that none of them had expressed a single mote of concern as to why she'd been late, but she wasn't about to divulge the fact that she'd nearly been run over _and _subjected to an attempted memory wipe in one afternoon. Debating the existence of a magical community in London and whether Etta had a drug problem were never her mother's favorite topics.

So Etta held her tongue. She smiled as her mother overly dramatized the events of her day and laughed in all right places. She even managed a decent conversation with Nora without breaking into a quarrel, and the two of them supported one another in convincing Mrs. Lovett that she had _truly _outdone herself with the cooking and that Mr. Lovettwould surely _love _a taste when he got home.

At the end of the meal, Etta volunteered to do the dishes. She knew her mother would want compensation for her tardiness, despite the fact that Mrs. Lovett seemed infinitely happier now that both her daughters were stuffed from her food.

"Good girl," beamed her mother. She gave Etta a kiss on the cheek as Etta stacked up the plates. "I'm going to go upstairs and check on Sam." She treaded up the staircase with a jolly tune on her breath and Etta took her stack of plates into the kitchen.

And then Nora pounced.

"_Well_ then," said her sister in a foreboding 'I-got-you' tone. "Care to explain why you were reallylate?"

Etta paused and then resumed the steady circular movement of wiping the plates dry. "What are you on about?"

"Oh stop," said Nora impatiently, striding over and hopping onto the kitchen countertop beside the sink. "You had another episode, didn't you?"

"A what?" said Etta innocently.

"You know…" Her normally flawless articulation failed her this time. "_Seeing _things. Wizards. Flippin' hell, don't make me sound like a mental case too."

Etta sighed, her mood plummeting instantly. "Stop it, Nora."

Nora narrowed her gaze. "You having hallucinations _is _something to be concerned about. You have the same fidgety look on your face, like you're hiding something."

_They're not hallucinations, Nora. Hallucinations come and go, but these are here to stay. Can you hold conversations with a hallucination? Can the bloody government of a hallucination attempt to contact you? _

Etta set her plate down and folded her arms. "Doesn't matter what I say, does it? It's not like you've ever believed me."

"Do you expect me to? Your last excuse when you went missing for hours was that you got lostin _magic wonderland_ and couldn't find your way back to London. Would _you _have believed that story if you'd heard it from someone else?"

Etta recalled the memory painfully. She had walked into what she'd supposed had been an ordinary Barne's and Noble, only to have been transported into what looked like a bank from the 18th century. The only difference was that instead of having bank-tellers behind the counters, there were terrifying beady-eyed creatures weighing gold coins the size of hub-cabs. After shrieking hysterically and causing a scene with the numerous other customers (who were incidentally all wizards and therefore highly amused), Etta had later learned that she'd unintentionally stumbled upon Gringotts, the wizarding community's primary banking chain.

She had also learned the existence of a new species. _Goblins. _Take that, A-level biology.

"You don't know everything, Nora," stated Etta quietly.

"What, a magical world that only _you _can see?" said Nora indignantly. She snorted and it annoyed Etta so very much that she could make even _that _look graceful. "You don't ever thinkabout the consequences of your actions on other people, do you? You couldn'tget your A-level marks because you decided to go mental during revisions week, which meant that dad had to go and pull some strings for you to get into university. Then you went missing for a month at Warwick and the dean went _beserk _on mum and dad. Thank goodness you managed to get your diploma because heaven knows where you'd be now."

"Leave it alone, Nora."

"And just when we thought your mental health were turning up, you stormed into dad's corporate dinner last month and embarrassed him in front of _all _his colleagues because you couldn't stop rambling about people in pointed hats and wands and-"

"I said, _shut up_," snapped Etta, her voice trembling. "I didn't say anything to mum tonight, did I? I was late on account of _'_bad traffic'_. _ That's the story. Take it or leave it."

She picked up the plate she'd been drying and realized that she'd been on the same dish for five minutes now. Silently, she picked up another dirty dish from the rack and began to scrub furiously at it with a sponge.

Nora's voice floated into her haze of anger and embarrassment with a tinge of guilt. "Etta…"

_Oh for fuck's sake. Just let me do the dishes. _

"Oh, Etta, it's not just you anymore. It's Sam."

The scrubbing stopped. Etta looked up at her sister, her anger abating. "What? What's wrong with him?"

"He's starting to…" Nora wrung her hands distressingly_. _"See things."

"That's not surprising. He's high as a kite 'bout half the time," said Etta dryly. Between Nora's unnaturally high IQ and the amount of time Etta had spent in therapy for 'involuntary hallucinations', Sam was about as normal of a teenager as there could be in the family.

"For once I wish it was drug-induced. The other day I had him out for a suit fitting at Oxford Circus and he said that he'd seen the _wall _open up…wouldn't stop babbling about a pub he'd found called the '_Leaky Cauldron_'-"

Etta froze. "The what?"

Nora shot her a look that was almost reproachful. "I know. The name struck me as familiar because I recalled it was something _you'd _mentioned before. Remember? You dragged me along to show me some new pub you'd found and when we got there, the wall had somehow conveniently sealed itself up…but Sam wasn't there that day…how could _he _have known…" her voice ended on a small quaver.

"Have there been other incidents?" asked Etta, not daring to breathe. She had been Sam's age too when she'd begun noticing the distant fringes of a magical world spilling into her own.

"Oh, I don't know," muttered Nora, hopping off the kitchen countertop and leaning against the wall dejectedly. "The other day we were walking a few blocks over and he turned white as a sheet and began pointing like a madman at absolutely nothing at all. When I asked him what the matter was, he told me that he'd seen a man and a woman transform into a pair of foxes right there on the street, but all I saw was the pavement and there was _no one there. No one, _Etta_._" she slapped her forehead in frustration as another thought occurred to her.

"Just yesterday he insisted that he'd spotted an owl in the park with a letter attached to its leg. Ridiculous. Who in the right mind still uses _post _when you've got the web…and I've never even seen an owl flying around in central London…"

Nora's sentence trailed off and her eyes met Etta's rather helplessly. "I don't want to believe that Sam's mad. Come to think of it, _you _never seemed barking to me either. But what are the odds of two mad people experiencing the _same_ hallucinations? Logically speaking, the only other explanation is…"

She met Etta's eyes wordlessly. What Nora meant to say was: _I was wrong. _

"It's true," croaked Etta. "He's not mad. _I'm _not mad. Nora, you've got to believe us."

"That _wizards _exist_?" _said Nora with a despairing cry.

"Yes."

"That they send post by _owl_?"

"Yes."

"Christ. PETA would have a fieldday."

"They wouldn't," said Etta, still dazed. _Sam's just like me. My dear Sam. _"Niall says wizards would never mistreat their owls."

Nora's eyebrows shot up above her hairline. She cleared her throat and asked, politely, "Who the fuck is Niall?"

_Drat. _Etta's cheeks heated up. "He might possibly be this bloke that I'm…seeing."

"_The fuck_?" shouted Nora before realizing that her dulcet tones might reach their mother upstairs.

"Sorry?" continued Nora in a low hiss, clamping onto Etta's arm. "Forget _wizards. _You're _seeing_ someone? Honestly, when am I ever going to know about these things—I'm your _sister-_"

"That's not really the important issue at hand," reminded Etta with a grin tugging at her mouth. Excitement welled in the pit of her stomach, threatening to explode. This was crazy and wonderful and _so, so surreal._ Her brother, her dear baby brother, was going to prove that she wasn't some insanity case to her family.

"No, you're right. It's not," said Nora, shaking her head as she reverted back to practicality. "What I'm trying to say is." She paused and took a shaky breath. "About this magical community that you may or may not have been dreaming up the last few years…I may have been a bit…"

"Bitchy?" offered Etta, prompting a scowl from Nora.

"I was going to say _premature_," she emphasized this delicately, "…about my decision regarding your sanity, and that I think that whatever it is you and Sam are experiencing requires further investigation, _without _having mum or dad dragged into it, of course."

"Oh there's so much I want to tell you," groaned Etta, pulling her sister into an embrace despite Nora's protests that her hands were still soapy. The crash of relief was beautiful and the words came pouring out like a broken dam.

"They're absolutely mental people. Mental. I got hit by a magic bus today on my way home. That's why I was late. They've got buses that literally just appear out of nowhere, like in those science fiction films where the ship goes into hyper-drive, but instead of offering compensation or insurance, it's part of their policy to take normal people—people like you and me—and try to have your memories wiped so you can't remember it ever happening-"

"_What_?" said Nora, shocked. Her pretty features twisted as the staggering amount of information hit her. "Stop. Etta, I'm not—I don't want to hear _everything _just yet—"

"But they'll try to fix you if they know you've found out about everything," said Etta urgently, fixing her sister's widened green eyes with a solemn look. "You have to promise not to go around poking for answers about Sam and I. Not until I've worked out the kinks with the Ministry of Magic-"

"The Ministry of-" Nora choked. "Now you just sound stupid."

"This _is_ a real problem, Nora. All they have to do is point their wand at you, mutter some Latin rubbish and then _poof_, your memories are gone," said Etta, folding her arms in annoyance as a smile continued to twitch on Nora's lips. They were reverting back to their familiar, bickering selves, and that seemed to offer some ounce of comfort to her older sister, who prided herself in being able to get a rise out of Etta. "For god's sake, if you really don't believe me you can meet Niall in _person _and he'll explain everything to you-"

Yes. Boyfriends. This was familiar ground to Nora and she leapt at the subject instantly as though it were a life-boat. "Right. The new _beau_," she smirked, no longer floundering. "So he's a wizard then."

"Yes."

"What's he like?"

"Not your type, " Etta shot back. "Witty and charming and capable of human emotion." He was also gorgeous, a fact that Etta relished with both surprise and glee, especially since they had recently begun to take their relationship to the bedroom.

Nora scrunched her nose distastefully. "Definitely wouldn't tell mum then. What does he do?"

"Erm. He's a professional athlete."

"What, like a football player?"

"Sort of. There is a team…and you've got to… score goals, I suppose," said Etta vaguely, selecting her words with careful precision.

Nora crossed her arms and cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. "You're telling me that _you've _managed tosnag a bloke who's a professional athlete _and _a wizard? If that doesn't prove your dreaming, I don't know what will."

Etta felt a smile unravel on her face at the tinge of jealousy in Nora's tone. It was such a rare opportunity that she got to antagonize her sister that she couldn't help but milk it.

"I haven't even begun to explain the sport yet. It's _much _more exciting than football. There are seven wizards to a team and they fly around in the air with broomsticks tucked between their legs. Their objective is to chuck a big red ball into the opposing team's goals—yes, _goals_, there's three—and then there's a wee winged ball called the Snitch-"

"Gah!" pronounced Nora forcefully, covering her ears and rushing rapidly out of the kitchen as though her tail had been set on fire. "_No_. No more insanity. I can't handle it."

"But I haven't even started explaining the point system yet!" Etta yelled after her, and her smile lingered long after she heard Nora's door slam shut.

AAA.

"So your sister knows?"

The pub was loud enough to drown out any suspecting eavesdroppers, a perfect setting for a conversation that would otherwise break several large-scale international Wizarding laws.

Etta popped a peanut happily into her mouth, enjoying the crunch between her teeth. "Yep."

Irina raised her eyebrows and the piercing embedded above her right eye glinted in the dim light. "And she didn't go completely ape?"

"Surprisingly, no."

"Well, congratulations," said the man sitting beside Irina, who faintly resembled the latter with his soft tufts of white-blond hair and sharp cheekbones. He still carried faint traces of an elegant accent in his English. "This one here wouldn't stop sending me books about the dangers of occult practices after she found out."

Irina shoved him with a glare. "I was _nine_, Dmitri_._"

Dmitri stuck his tongue out at her. "I had an official letter from Durmstrang and everything. What more proof could you have needed?"

Irina shrugged. "Could have been a money scam. We were still living in Moscow."

Dmitri winked at Etta. "Still carried on until I transformed one of her knickers into a cute ickle hedgehog. _That's_ when she believed me." He clapped his hands and raised an arm into the air. "Oi! Can I get a pint?" The nearest waitress, a girl with slick black hair and very pretty eyes, regarded their booth with a faint curl of her mouth.

Dmitri whistled as he sat back in his chair. Irina socked his shoulder. "Do you have to be so derogatory?"

"What? She was clearly interested."

"She wasn't looking at _you_,you twat. She was looking at me," retorted Irina, and Etta hid her smile behind her hand. They were an odd pair of siblings. Some would say too close, by the manner in which they shared everything—clothes, personal space, even their choice in women—but their intimacy was forged through years of hardship and neglect from their parents. Dmitri loved Irina so much that Etta was fairly certain that if Irina spontaneously announced that she was moving to Nepal he would have dropped everything in his life and packed off with her, and she knew that Irina would be willing to sacrifice her organs for Dmitri.

Still, they fought about almost _anything_.

"I didn't get any lesbionic vibes from her, sorry."

"As if you would know."

"By the way," interrupted Etta with a small cough. "I've invited Niall to stop by, if that's alright with you."

Irina and Dmitri paused their momentary quarrel. Irina let out a puff of air, clearly frazzled, and Etta ignored her. Irina had never been fond of Niall, but then again, Irina had never been fond of _men _in general.

"I don't mind," said Dmitri. "Haven't seen Niall Fravers in awhile, not since I reffed the Cannons versus Wasps game a few months back. How are you two getting on?"

"_Spiffing_," pronounced Irina with a faint hint of scorn, and Etta smiled happily in agreement.

"Have I thanked you enough for introducing us?" said Etta, patting Dmitri's hand. "No, I don't think I have. Thank you. _No, _really. _Thank you._"

Dmitri's eyes widened, startled. "That good? It's just been a few weeks, hasn't it?"

"She's in love," continued Irina in the same harsh manner. "They're going to move in together and raise hippogriff puppies."

Dmitri cracked out a hoot of laughter. "So I reckon you've started sleeping over now?"

Etta nodded fervently, her cheeks reddening, and then emitted a loud groan. "Earth-shattering sleepovers, I tell you."

Dmitri gestured with his hands and performed a mock, elaborate bow. "You are welcome, madam."

"You," stated Etta, jabbing her finger at Irina. "You need to meet some female Quidditch players. Or witches in general. These people are fascinating."

Irina snorted, her abrasive demeanor dissolving, and she pinched Etta gently on the cheek. "I'll stick within my own circles, thank you. I don't want to run the risk of meeting someone my brother's potentially slept with."

"Contrary to popular belief," said Dmitri indignantly. "The Quidditch Referee Association is not just full of man-whores who sleep through the entire wizarding population."

Perfectly timed, the attractive waitress from before chose to slide in and place two pints on the table. "That'll be four pounds," she said in a low voice, her eyes fixated on Dmitri.

Dmitri handed her the money, his lips spreading into a grin, and his fingers gently grazed the woman's hand. "Here you go, love."

She winked and strutted off, displaying a rather magnificent view of her behind in a tight black skirt. Irina groaned and Dmitri smiled triumphantly.

"On the contrary," commented Etta dryly, "The QRA seems to hold an interest for the _entire _British isles."

"Ah, talking about women and sports? My favorite topics." The confident, sparkling voice that still prompted the hairs on Etta's neck to stand in pleasure emanated from behind them. She swiveled in her seat just in time to meet the eyes of Niall Fravers, who gazed down upon them with a pleased grin.

_God, he's handsome. _Etta was never one to be swift in giving away compliments, but he had the look that reminded her of knee-knocking stereotypes in fairytales; the swashbuckling pirate, the brave musketeer. His hair was a beautiful ginger-gold color that fell in smooth locks against his neck and lightly peppered his jaw. His eyes, a light green-gray, held a cool charm that might have taken the words even out of Nora's mouth. _Neverending bedroom eyes_. That was what a schoolmate of Etta's had once described a previous boyfriend and the description couldn't have been more accurate.

When he slid into the seat next to Etta, she was reminded by how utterly masculine he was; the sharp scent, the stature, the way his arm easily circled her shoulders as if he knew instantly that it belonged there.

"_Dmitri Malkov_," greeted Niall in pleasure, and the two blokes clasped hands momentarily. "Been a while. A _long _while, mate. Is this the sister you've talked so much about?" His eyes scrutinized Irina's blue-blond hair and dark-lined eyes with interest.

Irina extended a hand coolly. "Pleasure. I'm Etta's flatmate."

"Merlin. Right, yeah. I completely forgot." Before Etta could register, Niall had leaned in and kissed her fully on the lips. Her heart constricted in pleasure. "Still haven't come by your place, have I, peaches?"

"No—no," replied Etta, recovering quickly. "Niall, I've got some news. Yesterday, I told my sister-"

"Shit," interrupted Niall suddenly, his eyes widening as he glanced upward towards the entrance of the pub. "They're already here. I hope you don't mind. I invited some of the lads from the team. It's not just a _purely _muggle establishment, is it?"

They all craned their heads to watch. Sure enough, a flock of young men in bright-orange uniform were poised by the door chattering in loud, blusterous tones. They were still wearing some of their Quidditch gear, including the odd wooden armbands that Etta learned were made to protect one's wrists from enchanted balls that enchanted to knock you off your broomstick. A few of them had Quaffles tucked under their arms.

"Actually it is," replied Etta weakly, hoping that she was the only one who could spot the moving cover picture on the copy of _Quidditch Weekly_ Niall had brought in with him. The problem with English pubs was that they virtually recognized every regular British sports team. "I didn't know-"

"Oi! Lads!" Niall cupped his mouth. "Over 'ere!"

The men trudged in, their coats caked in mud and their hair disheveled from the blustering wind. Etta watched, fascinated by their entry and at the same time worried about the lack of discretion. She heard one of the bar patrons ask: "What sport do you lot play for?"

"Bowling, Alfie!" announced Etta hastily in response. She stood up in her seat and addressed the majority of muggles in the room. "Just the, um, bowling team from Surrey, nothing to see here." Heads turned back to their drinks and the momentary silence in the room abated.

"_Look_," she began, facing Niall with a peeved off expression. "I'm a regular at this place and I don't want anyone thinking that I'm nuttier than I am-"

"Now, who on earth could think you were nutty?" said Niall with an exaggerated frown, and she smiled at his indignant response, even if he was putting it on. "You're bloody adorable, that's what. And you've been asking to meet the team and to know more about Quidditch, and that's exactly what we're going to do."

Etta glanced back and met Dmitri's cocked expression. He seemed pleasantly surprised, as if this weren't quite customary behavior. Irina continued to sit in stony silence.

"Well…" She looked at the members of the team filing in; all flushed from perspiration and wearing wide, goofy smiles. They looked like the older versions of boys she'd known throughout her whole life. Just regular, British young men, who just as may well have finished bowling practice. "Sod it. Let's buy you lot a round."

AAA.

Many rounds later, Etta was feeling hot and faintly lightheaded, engaged in what seemed to be a whirlwind of conversation that left her spinning more than the beer. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt this blissful. The stringent demands of work and her own struggles at home seemed like distant echoes.

"_Peter_, Beater," she chewed on the name slowly, addressing a curly-haired boy in front of her. Four of Niall's teammates were grinning at her in anticipation, as if watching a parakeet speak for the first time.

Etta pointed at each of the lads from left to right in succession, her eyes screwed up in concentration. "Reese, Chaser. Stuart, Beater. Aaaaand." Her finger waggled triumphantly at the last bloke. "_Gallaghan_, Seeker."

"Reserve seeker!" crowed the bloke named Reese, tousling Gallaghan's hair. "She memorized that fairly quickly, didn't she? We should name you our manager."

"Why not," said Etta with a laugh, "I'd love to be paid in gold. Could do with a rest from my cracker-head of a job."

"Cor, I could never wrap my head around muggle financial bits and pieces," stated Peter with a shake of his head. Etta had learned that he was a half-blood and that his mother was an accountant for the Ministry of Magic while his father worked in construction. "My sister's in a Muggle bank as well, and it just seems _mental_. Magic makes everything easier, doesn't it?"

"You have no idea," nodded Etta solemnly. She flicked the curls out of her eyes, and watched from the corner of her vision as Niall laughed next to a tall, rather good-looking fellow with rumpled, jet-black hair. Though she hadn't been introduced to the bloke yet, he seemed to be the life of the party, cracking constant jokes and ordering rounds of beer as if he possessed a bottomless gullet. He had piqued her curiosity the moment she'd seen Niall embrace him like a younger brother, but she got a vague sense that he seemed to have no interest in meeting her.

"_You're _a bit odd, aren't you?" teased Reese, "Am I correct in that you haven't got _any _wizard blood in you?"

"Well, some might say that being Jewish is a form of sorcery," quipped Etta, and then she shook her head adamantly a moment later. "Never mind. Terrible joke."

"Hang on a minute." Stuart rumbled to life. He was a beefy bloke with few words, but when he spoke, the table itself vibrated slightly. "You're not a muggle-born?"

"No. I am," replied Etta slowly.

"What he means is," jumped in Reese, "Is that you're not one of those muggles born with magical abilities? You've never been to Hogwarts?"

"No. That I haven't." The boys seemed to understand, even if she didn't. They all nodded.

"So how is it that you can see through all of our concealment spells?" said Peter, his brow wrinkled in fascination. "Niall says he's taken you to the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley, but no _muggle _has ever been able to walk through the brick wall."

"I…don't know," said Etta, feeling a stab of apprehension at the very thought. There were thoughts that she liked to stow away and not think about, thoughts that required intense contemplation, and her very existence was one of them. What did she play in the role between the two worlds? Why was she stuck between them? "I've been told by your Ministry that I'm not the only one."

"I heard about this," remarked Peter unexpectedly, and Etta felt her spine stiffen automatically in interest. "Mam mentioned it once. Says Arthur Weasley's had his hands full with a new turnout of muggles…they're calling 'em '_Meddlers'_. A whole lot's been popping up recently en' they're causing some trouble with the muggle PM."

_Meddlers. _The name tasted sour in Etta's mouth, as if the implication were that she was unwelcome. And Arthur Weasley. The ever-elusive Arthur Weasley that Etta had only spoken to through a mysterious phone number. The alcohol in her blood urged her to reach over and shake Peter until he spilled out whatever knowledge he possessed. These faint scraps of information she had of the Wizarding world and her place in it served only as paltry glimpses of a larger picture.

Then, with a blink, the urge was gone and she stared back at the boys with a weak smile. Raising her pint, she said: "Well, there you go."

The lads cheered and engaged in rowdy banter as most boys would, roaring and grinding and pushing Etta to down her pint in one. Despite her frail protests, she obliged, and found herself swaying slightly as the golden liquid drained out of her glass and into her mouth. When she gasped and wiped the foam away from her lips, she found herself looking into the face of the black-haired bloke who'd been talking to Niall moments ago. He stood there with a self-satisfied smirk, his arms folded across his chest.

"Hi." He leaned forward, speaking loudly over the din. He had a cool confidence that seemed effortless, bleeding over slightly into the realm of arrogance. "I'm James, James Potter. Lead Chaser."

"Nice," she nodded, raising her voice as well. "I'm Etta, Etta Lovett. Meddler."

James grinned, and she was pleased that he'd caught on that she was slightly mocking him. "Lads!" he turned to call over his shoulder. "I don't think Miss Lovett's had a proper taste of Quidditch. Who's got the Firewhiskey?"

There was a blusterous roar, and Etta was thankful that the hour was late enough for this sort of volume to be acceptable. Without understanding what was happening, several muggle occupants also clanked their glasses and shouted in agreement. She spotted Dmitri and Irina sitting at the other end of the room. Dmitri was shaking his head ruefully at her, as though she was about to regret what would happen next.

And regret she did. From under her nose, James Potter brought out a flask that smelled of something so hot and rank that her eyes watered violently just by inhaling a whiff. She could taste the previous three beers in her mouth.

"_No,_" she protested, trying not to moan. She looked dead-on into James' twinkling eyes. The corner of his mouth curved upwards and a dimple blinked into existence. "You can't be _serious_."

"Serious is my middle name," stated James very seriously indeed, and his mouth twitched as if he were sharing a private joke with himself.

Remarkably, Etta found herself reaching for the flask. There was something oddly compelling about him. He wasn't particularly handsome, but he was so devilishly _charming_, more so with his mannerisms and words as opposed to Niall's looks, that she did feel in that moment that it had became significantly important to gain this idiot's approval.

She pinched her nose and, without thinking too much of it, tipped the flask to her lips. She choked and sputtered seconds later. _Good God. _She felt as if she'd just smoked a cigarette and downed a glass of Glenfidditch all in one. Her head spun nauseatingly and she blindly reached backwards for some form of support. A pair of unfamiliar, warm hands steadied her, and then she heard James say in her ear:

"_Bugger." _There was a tremble of laughter in his voice, though he sounded somewhat apologetic. "Shit. Well that cocked you up, didn't it?"

"I…need to get some air," gasped Etta, her face suddenly feeling as hot as a stove.

"Right, right. I'll take ya." She heard him call out to Niall. "Oi! Flatface! Your girlfriend's had a bit much." I_ had a bit much? _She thought incredulously, feeling her stomach seize. _if you hadn't force-fed me poison, maybe. _

All the same, as James gently pushed the small of her back forward, he continued to sputter with barely suppressed laughter until they'd stepped outside and the cold hair felt like a welcome release.

AAA.

"You did that on purpose." Etta found her voice once the spinning had stopped. She was leaning against the brick wall in side-alley of the pub, right underneath an overgrowth of daisies. The air was wonderfully temperate and the spring wind contained a faint scent of pollen.

James shifted slightly at the sound of her voice. He was propped next to her, his hands casually in his pockets. "Maybe I did."

In the lamplight, she could make out his features better. He was still ridiculously tall, but at least she could see his expressions with more clarity. His hair was truly an apocalyptic mess, but perhaps Etta could see how women might find such a feature endearing. There was a faint crossing of freckles across the bridge of his curved nose.

"You wanted to see how I'd react to wizard alcohol," mused Etta. She shoved him rather forcefully, though she wasn't angry. "What if I'd _died_?"

James shrugged. "You wouldn't have. Besides, it was interesting."

"What is?"

"You are," said James in an oddly gentle voice. He stepped off the wall to face her and tapped her nose. "The team likes ya. I don't think Niall expected they would so much."

"I'm glad I could provide my services as an experimental subject," intoned Etta sarcastically, her nose wrinkling where he'd touched her. "Shall we trade? I'd like to see if muggle electricity shocks just as well on a wizard."

"Hint: it doesn't." James smirked, and then let out a bark of laughter. "Merlin, Even I'm starting to like you. It's really a shame you won't be around for long."

He said the last phrase so casually and without thought that Etta was simultaneously shocked and alarmed by the implication. "Pardon?"

James took a moment to register her perplexed expression. "Oh! Right…well."

He pulled out a carton of cigarettes and a long, thin stick that Etta had once identified as a wand. She'd only ever seen Niall's wand, which was dark and twisted like a thorn root and this one—with its brown finish and smooth edges –possessed an elegance that was vastly different. He muttered a spell under his breath and lit the cigarette on fire. Etta waited out the process with immeasurable patience. Each second felt like an eternity.

"The reason why I got my position on the team was because the last Lead Chaser quit."

He took a puff from his cigarette and exhaled, and the smoke spiraled and elongated into the faint outline of a broomstick. Etta sucked in a breath, and James' mouth twitched at her reaction.

"Quince Ferguson," he continued calmly. He waited a bit, and then said: "Anyway, Niall slept with his wife."

Etta recoiled, icy shock spreading through her veins. She searched James' face for any sign of a joke or a laugh. He was puffing away casually, his eyes trained on hers, and he looked completely sober.

"Why are you telling me this." It wasn't a question; her voice was taut and quiet.

"_Why?_ Don't you want to know who you're getting into bed with?" inquired James, and he cocked his head with a faint smile. "Literally."

Etta wasn't smiling anymore, and he seemed to realize it. "Listen," said James, exhaling in a manner that could have almost been apologetic. "I didn't want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything… I just thought you should know. If it helps, Niall talks the world about you."

_But you think I won't be around for long. _Etta wanted to snap back, but his eyes held something bright and genuine, as if he truly would regret never being able to speak with her cordially again. Etta surveyed him for several more seconds, and then decided that it simply wasn't worth expending any more energy on the matter.

"Fair enough," she agreed, reaching out to pat his shoulder. His eyes widened, as if he'd been expecting her to say something else. "Note taken. Thanks. Your cigarette's out."

James promptly took out the cigarette in his mouth and lit it up again with the tip of his wand. His eyes continued to flicker towards her every few seconds, as if he were trying to say something to her but couldn't quite put it in words. He did look quite handsome in the light, thought Etta. Not a swashbuckling pirate, but a dashing jewel thief perhaps. A silence hung between them, until James said:

"Are you _always _this easygoing?"

"Hm." She took a moment to think, and then a memory dawned on her with a smile. "Last week, I spit in my boss's coffee." Laughter gurgled out of her uncontrollably. "He was a complete belland and totally deserved it, though."

"Is that your idea of a prank?"

"Hang on a minute. I once gave a blind lady the wrong directions."

James rolled his eyes and placed a hand over his chest, his face contorting in a manner that was almost similar to pain. "Please tell me that is not the worst thing you've ever done or we're finished talking."

"There was this one time I walked across the street during a red light crossing."

"_Come off it-_" James swore, but when she caught his eye, she saw him take note of her light-hearted expression and his features instantly relaxed. A smile tugged at his lips. "Cheeky. I suppose I'll never know."

"We've got to be mates first before I tell my deepest secrets."

"_Muggles_," he stated simply, shaking his head.

She knew he didn't mean it unkindly, so she let him have the moment. She stared upward, watching his smoke rings twist and turn into various entertaining shapes and forms. She felt the twinge of jealousy in her gut as she always did around magic, wondering to herself why she hadn't been selected as one of the lucky few to possess this gift. There was no bitterness in her emotions. Only bewilderment.

"Etta?" said James quietly, and she turned toward him. He reached out and gently grasped her wrists, turning her hand so that her palm faced upward. "May I try something?"

"What?" she said, trying not to let her apprehension show. He pulled out his wand from his jacket pocket again and raised his eyebrows at her to ask for permission.

"I promise it won't hurt," he said, and she believed him. She nodded, her throat bobbing.

"_Lumos_." The tip of his wand blossomed with white light like a flower, and he lowered the tip so that the light lay directly in the center of her palm. She cupped her fingers around slightly so that her fingers cast long, thin shadows directly above.

"Do you feel anything?" asked James softly. He was very close. When she glanced up, her nose almost collided with his chin. There was a slight prickle in her palm, a faint cluster of heat, as if she were holding a marble that had just been cast into the fire.

"Yes," she said, "Barely."

James' eyes glimmered faintly, though he seemed a tad disappointed. "Ah." His expression mirrored her own emotions. "How about some fireworks then?"

He withdrew his wand from her hand, and the white light extinguished itself. Almost instantly afterward, without any vocal trigger from James, a flume of scarlet jetted out of his wand, traveling several meters above them, before exploding into a scatter of red sparks. They hovered in the air majestically for several moments before allowing gravity to overtake them.

The air rushed out of Etta's lungs in delight, her hands reaching up to catch the sparks in her hand as they began to rain down. James sucked in a breath, and she swiveled around to regard him questioningly.

"_Merlin_," he whispered, his mouth open as he looked at her. Miniscule particles of light, like tiny red shards of glass, melted into his skin harmlessly as he spoke. "Look at yourself."

Her eyes traveled to her outstretched hands and saw, to her astonishment, that they were glowing with pinpricks of light. The red sparks that James had cast could not touch her skin. As they drew closer to her arms, her hands, her face and neck, they faded and evaporated into winks of light.

James whistled. "Like magic," and she smiled at him wordlessly. She could not define what that small act had done for her that day, she vowed one day she would and thank him for it.

As they walked back into the pub, back into the racket and disarray, they parted on genial but distant terms. Their lives continued on in the next few months, undergoing currents of dramatic change, and during that time of separation, Etta thought nothing much of their encounter, much less as to when they would meet again.


End file.
